


The Stages of Living

by surpanakha



Category: Warrior Nun (TV)
Genre: F/F, Fluff, Post War, Temporary Amnesia
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-13
Updated: 2021-01-13
Packaged: 2021-03-18 02:27:53
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,496
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28735728
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/surpanakha/pseuds/surpanakha
Summary: It was hearing that first came back for Ava, her memories, the last. In between, it was Beatrice who stayed.
Relationships: Sister Beatrice/Ava Silva
Comments: 10
Kudos: 161





	The Stages of Living

**Author's Note:**

> Forgive me, this is not my usual style. This is mostly Ava’s thoughts, with a few dialogue inserted. This is an accompanying piece to the amnesia au video edit by @bitchforbeatrice that she posted for #warriornunwednesday. Yes, it’s still a thing!
> 
> Link to the video at the end of the fic.

They say that in the stages of dying, the sense of hearing was always the last to go.

By they, I mean the people on TV. That’s where I get my information on how the world works, mostly, when one of the nicer nuns would place an extra pillow on my back to prop my head up. Sister Frances loved to torture me with the shopping network, but the younger ones would put on one of the only four DVDs we had: The Matrix, The Exorcist, Lady and the Tramp and Casper.

Nobody said that it was the sense of hearing that would first come back. At the onset, it was just murmurs, conversations in hushed tones, muffled and inaudible. I noticed that I’ve been sleeping a lot lately, waking up only to the mishmash of tones and syllables that reach my ear, broken and unclear.

Except hers.

Deep, female voice. Sexy British accent.

She was always the first to come and the last to leave the room.

The first time I opened my eyes, I think I might have screamed. I saw faces hovering about me. Nuns, all of them. In the dream that I’ve been getting in and out of, I managed to escape from the orphanage to run away with a cute boy. What a downgrade. What the fuck am I doing here?

I noticed that their habits were blue. _A different order, probably? Was I transferred? Where was Diego?_

One of them tried to hold my arms to calm me down and I flinched. I remembered dear old Sister Frances and her cold gray hands, always pinching me in places where she thought I wouldn’t feel.

But the fingers against my skin were soft, the touch was tender. The face that hovered above my head was friendly but there was a pained look in her eyes after my initial rejection. I was ready to flip her off, eager to show off a recently acquired skill.

But I couldn’t bear to make her life miserable. Not when she didn’t seem to be actively hostile.

No, not at all. Actually, she seemed nice, and beautiful.

_And did I say beautiful?_

I soon found out that the other nuns were nice, too. There was one who would sit beside me quietly after lunch, playing a piano app on her iPad. There was another who came twice a day just to check up on me before leaving, shotguns strapped on either shoulder. _Badass._ Another came every other day. She had silver hair yet she looked young. _Stressed much?_

But my favorite visitor was, of course, her, the one I saw when I first opened my eyes. She would come first thing in the morning before the bells start ringing. She would bring me my lunch at noon and would return once more in the afternoon to read silently by my bedside until it’s time to go back to her own room. On the third day of this routine, I felt like I had enough energy and even managed to strike up the courage to introduce myself to her.

“Hey, I’m -” I started, then paused.

_Holy shit, I can’t remember my name._

She closed her book, a small thick volume with a black leather cover, to give me her full attention. I noticed her freckles, tiny golden specks featured on her perfect, rosy skin, illuminated against the warm rays of the afternoon sun shining through the open window. If I had known my name then, I knew I would have forgotten it all over again at the sight of her.

“What’s that, Ava?” I heard her say. I was astounded. She’s Sexy British accent, the lone voice that came clearly to me during my first waking moments.

_Oh, god, her deep voice. Wait, focus! I can’t remember my name!_

“Ava? Is that my name?” I asked. I felt immediately stupid. More than a decade in the company of rom coms made me think I’d come up with something smoother. In any case, what business did I have sliding up to a nun’s dms, as I heard the kids say these days?

Another stupid thought. I never owned a smartphone.

“You don’t remember your name?” she asked with a worried voice. Her hands crept up to my face, searching it for something I couldn’t care less about so long as she kept doing it.

“No, as a matter of fact, I can’t,” I replied sheepishly.

“Or anything that happened, at all?” she followed up. I shook my head.

“Oh,” the sound escaped her lips. She took her hands off my face and rested her body against the backrest of the wooden chair beside my bed.

“You don’t remember me,” she said, more of a realization than a question. Shepaused and looked like she was wondering how to answer the hardest question in the world. I wanted to tell her not to worry about me, not to worry her beautiful head about anything at all.

She sighed, and then smiled and reached out to take my hand.

“I’m Beatrice,” she revealed. “Can you feel my hand?”

Her palm was warm against mine and her words evoked a vague sense. Not a memory, but something else.

It was a feeling. A feeling of me fearing for her life and not caring about mine so long as I get to save her.

That’s new. I never, in my living memory, cared for anyone else, except perhaps Diego. Not that there were that many people in my life to care about.

“You. You’re important to me, aren’t you?” I said. She swallowed the lump in her throat, her Adam’s Apple bobbing up and down beneath the expanse of the tiny sliver of smooth skin exposed on top of her habit’s collar.

“That depends on what meaning you import upon those words,” she replied, letting go of my hand. She was silent, like she wanted to say more.

 _There’s always more._ Another vague memory, this one of her in the shadows. Why must she hide?

“It’s probably just shock. You’re gonna be okay,” she added. “Trust me.”

“I trust you,”I replied. I was sure I spoke those words to her multiple times , like I was sure I trusted her, even though the only thing I knew about her was her name.

Within an hour or two, a doctor came, although I was not so sure what kind. She wore all white from head to foot, like a post-apocalyptic villian. For that reason, I didn’t trust her at first. Yet Beatrice seemed to listen to what she had to say. And of course, I trust Beatrice.

_And did I say that I trusted her?_

_Trust your team._ I heard the words in her voice - another recollection - as I lied on the bed on my front, my back exposed to Beatrice and the newcomer. Every memory I regain seemed to be related to her voice. Yet it was hard to believe I could ever be a member of a team, so I filed it in the list of things to ask her about later when the doctor leaves.

“In my assessment when I first ran a battery of tests on her, I found that when the halo was shoved into her back, it attached itself to her spine. As you know, the spine is connected to the brain,” the doctor explained. “You said that the halo released an unprecedented burst of energy. That must have affected her memories. We’re lucky she’s alive.”

“Will her memories return, Dr. Salvius?” I heard Beatrice ask.

“We can’t say for certain. Obviously, we have no documentation of this type of injury,” the one called Dr. Salvius replied. “I would need to run another round of tests, see what sort of things would stimulate her recollection.”

 _It’s Beatrice and her voice._ I knew that by now, but I thought better than to speak and let the adults do the talking.

“And in the journal?” Beatrice asked.

“None, I’m so sorry Beatrice,” another nun said, the one who always played the piano on her iPad. Instead of the device, it was a thick, old looking book she had in her hand.

“If nothing comes out of the tests and possible treatments, I can make some calls. There are institutions that might take her in, if she will be a burden to the Order. Or you could place her under my care,” Dr. Salvius offered. I sensed that she was treading carefully.

 _No, please. Don’t let them take me away from you._ I thought. _But what could I really do?_

“Ava is never a burden,” Beatrice said as if she was offended by the notion. She stepped protectively in between me and the doctor, like Dr. Salvius just threatened to whisk me away right there and then.

The others came to my room after the doctor was gone. I learned that the badass with the shotguns was called Mary and that the stressed one with the silver hair was Lilith. On their wake came a new face, scarred and hardened. She wore a black habit unlike any of the others’.

_Boss bitch is here._

They sat around me on the bed, with Beatrice, the nearest. By this point, I figured out that I could sit up, and so I did, with my back propped against the wooden headboard because I still felt weak. I was finally able to take stock of the entire room from this point of view. I discovered that at the foot of the bed and slightly to the right, there was a full-body mirror. I saw myself for the first time since I could remember. I looked like shit, like I was hit by a truck. To think that I dared to show this face to Beatrice everyday.

The nuns began telling me about halos, about the Order of the Cruciform Sword, about the crypt underneath Vatican and about Adriel.

I glanced at Beatrice from time to time, searching her brown eyes and trying to decipher whether she believed this ludicrous story. She was quiet, listening to her colleagues with intent.

“Can we skip to the part where any of this has to do with me?” I said. I couldn’t help it. I’ve seen movies in my life. Lots of them. I just couldn’t suspend my disbelief for this plot.

“You have the halo on your back,” it was Mother Superion who spoke. I guess she preferred the direct approach. “You are the halo bearer.”

“You mean the circular, glowing, metallic object that you’re speaking of? You’re not pulling my leg?” I chuckled. “Just because I can’t remember anything doesn’t mean that you can just punk me.”

They don’t know I saw all of the reruns on MTV.

The nuns all stared at Beatrice as if expecting her to do something about my lack of belief.

She hesitated at first, and then took my hand and pulled me into an embrace. I wasn’t prepared for what I felt at the contact. I couldn’t even remember the last time I’ve been hugged. Yet as her arms circled around my shoulders and my chin rested on the crook of her neck, I was able to take a whiff of her subtle scent, of fresh laundered linen and breeze blowing against soft grass. My breath was knocked off my lungs, but there was never a moment in which I could breathe more clear. Beatrice held me tight against her body and I felt warm, but it was not because of the contact. From my periphery, I saw the bright glow of yellow light illuminating the space that our melded bodies occupied. On the mirror at the foot of the bed, I saw my back shine. I was radiant, luminous.

“The halo, it’s doing what you are seeing,” Mother Superion explained.

_Wrong. This is all Beatrice’ doing._

I was like this for weeks, clueless Ava. Yet I was smart enough to know that this place wasn’t for me. I’m not a nun. I don’t belong here and I was afraid that I was overstaying my welcome. My whole life, I felt like a bother, but I was so drawn to Beatrice’ side that so long as she could handle my annoying self, I wouldn’t dare to even think of leaving.

As soon as I gained enough strength to walk, I followed Beatrice around like a lost puppy she picked off the streets. I helped her with her chores, eagerly watched her during training, even studied with her in the library, inhaling the dust from the large tomes of books she opens for light reading. I even went with her to hear mass twice a day.

We spent most of our time together sharing stories, or at least she did. My particular favorite was when she told me about the time I phased through twenty feet of rock, apparently one of the perks of being the so called halo bearer. It was something I was very excited to try, though she wouldn’t allow me. Not yet.

“Ava, we can’t risk you getting stuck inside a wall. Just give it a little more time,” she would say whenever I asked.

Ordinarily, I would have resisted, would have tried to do it anyway when she’s not looking. Yet not even Mary and her shotguns would dare mess with Beatrice, so neither did I.

“Trust me,” she said one time when I looked particularly sad at having been rejected once more.

“I do,” I replied on cue.

Another snippet of her voice, another recollection. This time it was dark. I had the feeling that I was about to go into the unknown. Even her words echoed uncertainty. Yet I was confident that I trusted her, that what I said was true.

 _You’re thoughtless and self centered, but dishonest, no._ Yet another echo, another reminder. This particular memory told me how much it mattered to me that she believed me, that she knew I was telling the truth, for whatever reason.

I play these snippets in my head, trying to arrange them in chronological order and holding them together with Beatrice’ stories to form a complete narrative. Yet there was something missing.

There’s something she was still not telling me.

I looked at the calendar on the table inside Mother Superion’s office. Lilith told me that the first time I ended up the same room, I had my foot stuck in the wall. The wooden furniture was littered with papers, envelopes and letters. I didn’t take Mother Superion for one so disorganized. She was interrogating me, asking me what functions of the halo I was able to regain. It was a short talk because there was not much to report. All I know is that I feel warm whenever I catch sight of Beatrice. If that was because of the halo or the butterflies in my stomach, I couldn’t tell. On the calendar, I saw that it was already December. It has been a month since I woke up, give or take, and Beatrice never left my side, not even for a day. It should be getting colder, but I don’t shiver. That one was probably the halo’s doing, I give credit where it is due.

One morning, I woke up to Beatrice’ voice. She was singing.

“We wish you a Merry Christmas!” I heard an angel croon, the melody licking my ears with a honey filled tongue. I didn’t want to disturb her. I wanted to see her carry on thinking I was still asleep. She was by the wooden dresser underneath the window, wearing a red flannel shirt. She had taken off her head covering. It was the first time in my memory that I was seeing her hair. She wore it short, just barely past the lobes of her ears.

I’ve seen similar dressers in the rooms of the other nuns. Standard OCS issued. The sister warriors made theirs unique by decorating them with framed pictures of family and friends, a personal museum, a homage to the lives they led before joining the Order of the Cruciform Sword. Mary’s dresser was full of pictures of Sister Shannon. I was told that she was the one who bore the halo before me, the one I never met. I heard stories, they were very sad.

I had no pictures to decorate my dresser with, I knew no one from before.

Yet in the middle of my dresser top was a Christmas tree, white, and about three feet in height. Beatrice was hanging orb like ornaments as she sang that familiar Christmas song. I tried to move quietly, putting my weight on my elbows to take a peek, but somehow, she sensed that I was no longer asleep. She turned around. I discovered that she was wearing a pair of large, round rimmed glasses. Beatrice looked cute as fuck

“Surprise! Do you like it?” she said eagerly. The smile on her lips was enormous and she even threw her hands in the air. Yet her glee was immediately replaced by disappointment when I did not respond right away.

“I thought you could use some Christmas cheer,” she explained.

“Beatrice, you’re not in your habit,” was the first thing I said.

“Oh,” I heard the sound escape her mouth. She looked down at her shirt as if seeing it for the first time when I pointed it out. “Yes, I’m not in my habit.”

She hung the last bit of ornament that was still in her hand on the tree, a blue shiny orb, and wiped her palms on the front of her shirt before approaching me.

“I thought you should be the first one to know. I’m no longer a nun, as of this morning,” she broke the news.

“Why? Did they kick you out?” I asked. I was worried. I knew how important being a sister warrior was to her.

“No. I revoked my vows,” she replied.

“Why?” I sought to understand. She was all about God, and the Church, and the Order of the Cruciform Sword being her home.

“Nuns take a vow of chastity, Ava,” Beatrice explained slowly. “It’s the one thing I could no longer fulfill.”

I had a thought.

_Could it be?_

“Beatrice,” I said, reiterating my question when she touched my hand the moment I woke up a month ago. “Tell me, just how important are you to me?”

There was a pained look on her face, yet she wouldn’t speak.

_I could just figure it out for myself, right?_

I made my move, hoping that I was not breaking any rules for doing this. _I mean, she just said that she’s no longer a nun._

I enclosed my fingers around her wrist, pulling her to me in one swift motion, and planted a kiss on her lips.

It was nothing like I expected and everything I’ve been dreaming about these past few weeks. Beatrice tasted like all the tiny pockets of happiness that were not wiped off my memory rolled into one. I remembered the soft serve ice cream I had once when we had visitors from the ice cream company back in the orphanage. I recalled beating Diego at chess for the first and only match. I pictured that one time I phased through twenty feet of rock in Jillian Salvius’ lab and fell into Beatrice’ waiting arms on the other side.

I gasped. The halo was still glowing when we parted. I recalled that I hadn’t yet brushed my teeth, but Beatrice didn’t seem to mind.

I had the answer to my question, the one thing she wouldn’t tell me. No, the taste of her lips did not evoke any new memories, but the positive vibrations that the kiss left on the nerve endings of my mouth that it lit on fire were enough to tell me just how important Beatrice was to me.

_She was everything._

“We had this conversation before, didn’t we? You told me you were going to revoke your vows,” I ventured. I wasn’t sure if it was a fragment of a recollection, or of hope.

“Yes, and I did. I informed Mother Superion as soon as we were able to reconstitute the OCS and come back to the Cat’s Cradle,” she replied.

“For you,” she added.

“No. You did it for you,” I said, feeling bold enough to take her face in my hands.

“Now, do you remember everything?” she asked. Her brown eyes that used to be attentive were now dreamy, and her sexy British voice sounded drunk so early in the morning.

No, I did not remember everything in that moment, and I wouldn’t for a little longer. Yet somehow, when it came to Beatrice, I just knew.

The sense of hearing was the first to come back, at least for me. My memories were the last to return. In between, it was Beatrice who stayed.

[Avatrice Amnesia AU](https://twitter.com/bitch4beatrice/status/1349345521450668035?s=21)


End file.
